You're taking me apart like bad glue on a get well card
by JackValentine
Summary: Sammy gets hurt during a hunt for the first time and Dean realizes he would never let anyone or anything do that to his little brother ever again. Sam is 14, Dean is 18.


**TITLE:** You're taking me apart like bad glue on a get well card

 **AUTHOR:** JackValentine

 **PAIRING:** Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

 **RATING:** PG-13

 **GENRE:** Hurt/comfort, fluff

 **SIZE:** Mini

 **WARNINGS:** Incest, obviously

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Sammy gets hurt during a hunt for the first time and Dean realizes he would never let anyone or anything do that to his little brother ever again. Sam is 14, Dean is 18.

 **DISCLAIMER:** I don't own anything and seek nothing.

Sammy, you pain-in-the-ass little shit. I told you to stay in the car. I should've locked you in. Not only did you scare the thing away and hell knows where's Dad looking for the God damned werewolf now... But look at you. The blood on your face is almost black, clotted, it's all over your browbone and lower, dried up, it stuck your lashes together. Damn, your whole left side's hashed. Your shoulder is open, I can see blood and flaps of torn skin even from far away, even from this glass and plain light blue wallpaper prison that they locked me in while they'll be working on your wounds. My little Sammy, you look so pale. So skinny and weak. And so lonely there on this hospital bed, upon these glaringly white sheets, bloody and bruised. Your eyes closed, your breath slow and ragged. I rub my eyes and look at you again. Don't you worry, buddy, they'll patch you up. It'll be alright. I'm here. I'm right here. I wish you could hear me, Sammy.

* * *

Sam's eyes open slowly, his sight still hazy from the heavy, painkiller-induced sleep that he fell into for three or four hours now, Dean had already lost count. The first thing that Sam saw was grey checkered flannel, and the dirty blonde hindhead, still surrounded with fog, the meds still messing with his brain.

\- Dean? - he called quietly.

The flannel figure turned around abruptly. Now it was evident that it was sitting on the edge of the bed that Sam was in. The focus of Sam's view shifted and now what he had in front of him was a pair of green eyes, wet and wide open.

\- Sammy!

The hoarse whisper of Dean's was still echoing in Sam's head when Dean grabbed him and pressed him close to his chest, his heart pounding into his little brother's ear. Sharp pain pierced through Sam's shoulder, right where the fresh stitch was.

\- Ouch, Dean, - he said, making Dean remove his hand off of his shoulder in a heartbeat and place it a bit lower down his arm instead, still not letting go.

Dean was trying oh so hard to contain himself, but the hysterical happiness of seeing his brother all patched up and awake again was splashing inside of him and over the edge. So, before he knew, he found himself placing soft kisses, one after the other, all over Sam's pale cheeks, stroking his face so gently and tenderly, afraid to hurt him accidentally again.

Sam couldn't yet see straight, but he could certainly feel everything. The warm embrace of his big brother felt safe and comforting, Dean's stubble pricking at his cheeks was a somewhat pleasant feeling, too, Dean's work-worn palm caressing Sam's skin, so cautiously, barely touching, even. The beating of Dean's heart against Sam's ear was a lullaby, as the big brother's kisses were becoming gradually slower and softer, until, Sam could swear, he tasted the dry, salty lips pressed to the very corner of his mouth for a long while, Dean kissing that very same spot over and over, bearing off fearfully for a second, only to press his lips against it again, his mouth soft and tender, somewhere in between, a stitch away from something wrong.

Sam fell back asleep in his big brother's arms, calm and peaceful, colorful medicated dreams filling his head again.

* * *

Another sip of soda and Dean glanced at Sam again. He was sitting on the hospital bed, just a couple of feet away from the chair that Dean himself was sprawled on. Sam was looking a lot better now, well, at least there wasn't blood on his face anymore and there was a tint of color in his cheeks again. His one leg tucked under, and the other dangling over the edge of the bed, he was eating a pizza that Dean somehow managed to sneak into the hospital. Dean smiled.

\- Eat, tiger, you need to gain strength, - he said in that patronal voice that he'd always used whenever Dad was away and Dean had to take on looking after Sam, - are you feeling any better? - asked Dean taking another sip from the can in his hand, his arm resting on his knee that was almost leveled with his face, as he had his foot on the seat, - you were dopey as hell yesterday!

\- Yeah, I'm feeling a lot better, Dean. And that was because of the painkillers, I guess. I had some weird dreams while I was on them. You were in one of those, too, - said Sam, before cutting it off and realizing that telling Dean that was probably not the best idea.

Dean ran cold, the only sign of his fright being his grip on the can of soda tightening to the point where his fingertips turned white.

\- Oh, really? - he asked and cleaned his throat, - What was I-, um, what was I doing... There?

\- Nothing much, - said Sam, his expression blank and expressly casual, - just... Things... I guess.

\- Okay, - said Dean, still a bit tense.

Their eyes locked as they stared at each other for a couple of seconds, before Sam went back to his pizza to continue munching on it, as if nothing had happened.


End file.
